His eyes went wide. He snatched the phone from my hand, staring at the screen in horror. He scrubbed a hand over his face, a low groan escaping him.
"Oh, shit. Seven times? He's gonna kill me. No, he's gonna kill me, wear my skin as a suit, and then find a way to kill me again." He fell back against the pillows, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. "We're dead. So dead."
"I know! What should we do?"
I looked at him with puppy eyes. He groaned again, then peeked at me from under his arm.
"Okay, okay, don't look at me with those eyes. It's my kryptonite." He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. "Plan A: We sneak you out, you go home, pretend you slept in your own bed, and I call him and make up some story about my phone dying. Plan B: We walk out there together, face the music, and I spend the rest of my life avoiding his dodgeball throws."
He looked at me, a wry, pleading smile on his face. "Please vote for Plan A."
"Of course I vote for Plan A… I just hope he didn't come to my room last night… But…"
He winced. "Shit. You think he would have? Nah... he'd have called me first if he couldn't find you. Right?"
He said it more to convince himself than me. He scrambled out of bed, completely unselfconscious about his nudity as he started pulling on his boxers and jeans.
"Okay, new Plan A. Get dressed, fast. I'll peek outside. If the coast is clear, you make a run for it. I'll call him from my phone and say we were gaming all night and fell asleep. He'll buy that. Maybe."
"Did he not call you at all?"
He froze mid step, his jeans halfway up his legs. A look of dawning horror crossed his face. He whipped around, snatching his phone from the nightstand. He unlocked it, his thumb swiping frantically. His face paled.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." He turned the screen toward me. "Twelve missed calls from Jake. And about fifty texts. The last one just says... 'You're dead.'"
"Jeez! I don't want to go home..."
He let out a choked, hysterical laugh. "Tell me about it. I think I need to fake my own death and move to another country."
He looked at me, his panic softening when he saw my genuine fear. He moved to the bed, sitting on the edge and taking my hand.
"Hey... don't worry. He's not mad at you. He's gonna murder me. But I'll handle him. We just need to get our story straight. You staying here isn't an option; he'll tear my house apart looking for you."
A short, tense drive later, we arrived at my place.
"So... I'll go inside first and see how dangerous he looks," I whispered, clutching my phone. "If I don't text you within two minutes… call 911. Not kidding."
He grabbed my arm gently before I could open the car door, his face a mixture of terror and grim determination. He looked from my front door back to me, his expression deadly serious.
"Not funny, Clara. Don't even joke about that." He let out a shaky breath, running his free hand over his face. "Look, just go in. Act normal. I'll wait right here. If I hear screaming, I'm coming in. Forget 911; I'll be your Lancelot. A really scared, probably 'going to get pummeled' Lancelot. But still."
I kissed him softly and said dramatically, "This might be our last kiss. Love you, Ollie."
His eyes widened, and he grabbed the back of my head, pulling me into a deeper, more desperate kiss. It was frantic, full of an absurd level of last-minute passion.
"Don't say that. It's not." He pulled back, his hands framing my face. "I love you too. Now go. Survive. I'll be waiting."
Just as I was about to turn, he reached into the cup holder and grabbed the little blue bunny from the arcade. He pressed it into my hand, his fingers lingering against mine for a split second.
"Take your lucky charm with you," he whispered, a small, brave smile flickering on his face despite his terror. "He'll keep you safe until I can."
I squeezed the little blue bunny, gave him one last look, and headed for the door. I opened the door hesitantly. "Jake…?" I called softly. "Good morning…?"
The house was eerily quiet. Usually, the sound of the TV or Jake and Dad rummaging through the kitchen would fill the space. But there was nothing. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator.
"Ahh! You scared me..."
As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I saw him. My body froze. He wasn't in the living room; he was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, perfectly still, just watching me. His expression was completely unreadable.
"Hey..." My voice was shaking. He didn't respond. He just continued to stare until, slowly and unnervingly, he stood up. He wasn't yelling. He was something far more terrifying: calm.
"Clara Danielle Lee. Where were you?"
"Me?" My eyes trembled.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the distance. His voice remained level, devoid of obvious anger, which only made it more menacing.
"Yes, you. I called you seven times. I went to your room; your bed was empty. So I'm going to ask you again. Where were you?"
"Umm… I wasn't in my room because I was… out." I flashed an awkward, playful smile. "Why? Miss me that much?"
His expression didn't change. My attempt at humor fell flat. He stopped directly in front of me, so close I had to crane my neck to look up at him.
"Don't play games with me, Clara. I know Oliver's car is outside. His phone went straight to voicemail all night, right up until ten minutes ago." His voice dropped, becoming dangerous. "You were with him, weren't you?"
My breath caught. I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. "Why are you talking like I committed a felony?" I stepped back, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah, I was with him. We were just… hanging out."
He didn't let me retreat. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm. His grip wasn't painful, but it was firm and unyielding.
"Hanging out? All night? You think I'm an idiot?" His voice was laced with a cold fury. "I trusted him, Clara. He's my best friend. And you... you're my little sister."
He leaned in closer, his voice a harsh whisper. "Do you have any idea what would happen if Dad found out? He's barely ever home as it is, but if he knew I let something happen to you on his watch... Tell me what happened. Now."
"Stop... you're scaring me." My voice cracked. "Nothing happened. I just… fell asleep at his house. That's it." I pulled gently at my arm, my eyes shining with hurt. I had to lie. "Do you really think I'd do something behind your back on purpose? Really?"
He saw the genuine fear in my eyes, and his grip faltered. He let out a frustrated sigh, letting go of my arm but staying close.
"I don't know what to think, Clara! I woke up and you were gone! Vanished! And Dad's out of town, so I'm the only one responsible for you!" His voice finally rose, full of a night's worth of panic. "I thought something happened to you... I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere—like Mom—"
He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Just… don't ever do that to me again. If I lose you too, I've got nothing left."
"…So you're not gonna yell at me? Or ground me for life?"
He scoffed, a sharp and humorless sound. He crossed his arms over his massive chest. "Don't push it. You're not getting off that easy. Go to your room. I'm going to have a little talk with your boyfriend."